Doves and Crows
by Ballerina.Embers
Summary: The Hero of Ferelden had left without a single trace, let alone an explanation. She escapes to a forsaken land, the last place anyone would look for her, and tries to start anew... but he cannot simply let her vanish.
1. Prelude

Doves And Crows

.:Beginning of Prelude:.

_They were complete opposites. Nothing else in the world held greater contrast. They were both of the same kind, but one was a chaste child of nature, while the other was a filthy tyke, who was born and raised within a city built around sin. They had a way with words, and were familiar with the ways of the dagger._

_Neither thought they would hold any feelings for the other, at least not any warmth or fondness, not like love._

_She was the sun, bright and radiant. Every part of her was teeming with justice and grace. There are so many words one could describe her with. She held a poise personality, sharp and focused. Her eyes were so serious, precise and luminous. She always sported a particular look within her eye, as if she was always gazing out into the distance. Her flaw was her frailty…_

_He was the moon, glowing within the dark of the night in the absence of the sun. He was thought to be as cold-blooded as any snake, and just as agile. The man wasn't always careful, but he always had luck on his side. He was gifted with his appearance, and because of his striking features, he won the hearts of many women, and even men. He teased others, in attempt to get a rise out of anything easily provoked._

_He very much enjoyed provoking the leader of their little pack, but he never expected to gain any pleasures out of her…_

_Elle, the new name she went by, did not know what to think of these things Zevran spoke of. She was always quiet and reserved in the ways of love. The Dalish elf was not sure what to believe, but she did not state this to anyone. At least, she hasn't repeated the words to anyone._

_He discovered that, though. He found out by prying her open and ripping apart her little secret… Zevran was clever with his choice of words that night._

_He didn't take advantage of her weakness then, though. Not that night. He was very cunning with it the second time around. She was in her disposition twice around Zevran, and alone, too. He wasn't always the type who does this to a girl, but he wasn't one to miss a special opportunity._

_Elle was more than beautiful, so much more than alluring. He would be mad not to at least try and coax her, but she… She's never been that far before._

_What was a girl to do?_

_Like a fool she was drawn into the darkness of Zevran's night, seduced by talk of fantasies that could never truly exist. He whispered sweet-nothings into her ear, persuading her to bed with him by saying, "Life is too short. We must take pleasures where we can." Willingly she turned her back, but no stab in the back was needed. Zevran's dagger was already buried within her heart. That is what happened._

_The next morning she realized they both had over slept. Those she traveled with were awake, and they knew what happened before she stepped out of Zevran's tent._

_The humiliation from that moment was something she had to walk with. She didn't even get a chance to ask what he intended to do now that she had given herself to him. It wasn't as though it could have been freely talked about while they journeyed through Ferelden. It had to wait until they settled down to camp again._

_After a very long day, they did settle for camp, and words could not express how much tension her body held. She had averted her eyes from everyone since that morning. It was difficult to walk up to Zevran that night, but she had to find out what this all meant._

_She realized just what was to become of her shortly thereafter, and it tore her heart out._

_Zevran's attitude towards love did not change. He was careful with his words, he states exactly how he felt and he told her exactly what they could do. The options presented to her were all so… unsatisfying. Unsatisfying is putting it lightly._

_She felt foolish, and she felt ashamed, but she made herself believe it was all right. Having a lover that didn't truly __**love**__ was better than being alone. She put herself in his hands, for a short time._

_Rush of blood, and some pain; there was no pleasure in her first time, but Zevran told her that it would get better. She didn't do that with him, or anyone afterwards, which was troubling for the male elf. This love he once spoke of didn't feel all that amazing, in any form given to her. She was unhappy, and that's how she knew she made a mistake._

_Days later, she brought her blade into the Archdemon. And that, she believed, was the end of her mission._

_Although they celebrated the victory of ending the Blight, Elle didn't feel like joining in. She asked for no boon. When asked by the new King if she would be staying in Denerim, she stated that she explained that she wasn't sure. When told that there was a crowd out side, waiting for her appearance, she miraculously escaped the showing and left through a separate exit, leaving everyone and everything behind without a word or even a clue…_

_All of Ferelden was in an uproar. Their savior had vanished, so it seemed. Elle, the Dalish elf, was gone. Quite possibly gone forever._

_Elle had been gone for nearly a week now. Wrapped around in her selfishness and guilt. Her disappearance caused some trouble to her friends, but all affairs within Ferelden were no longer her problem. Amazingly enough, her feet took her to The Wilds. It was the one place where she knew she wouldn't be found. Though it was dangerous, she was confident in her abilities. All hostile encounters made against her failed, leaving her the victor every time. She escaped so deep within The Wilds that she became lost…_

_But above all, Elle was alone._

.:End of Prelude:.

I've been working very hard on this particular idea that I've had. This time, I have my story line set before me. I can only hope you like what I present… If I have any mistakes, please inform me via message. R&R!


	2. Absence

Doves And Crows

.:Chapter One:.

She was in hiding.

She had escaped into the Korcari Wilds with little to no concern for anything else.

Her heart heavy, her thoughts cluttered. Elle was in complete disarray, but something told her there was something she could salvage within all the corruption and wreckage. Her thoughts were all in a muddle, but she had to do something else than walk aimlessly into the unsuspecting dangers of The Wilds.

Within a few days time, she managed to disconnect the emotions that were all in a knot, tied onto her. Elle managed to distract herself with tasks that almost seemed trivial. Things like food did not seem quite as desired as before. Though she could nibble on something, she had no drive, to motivation, to carry out these actions. No, she did not eat a real meal for many days. She would much rather feast on her own thoughts, if anything. But one cannot simply live on thinking, can they? No, no. Even if she could, her thoughts wouldn't be very tasty. Ugh, hardly.

… She felt used. She felt used from the very beginning.

From the moment she was forced into becoming a Grey Warden, she felt like nothing but a tool. _"You will never come back here."_ He says. What he really meant to say was,_ "Abandon all ties ye who joins."_ Pathetic bastard, how dare he take her out of the sheltered life she once led? How dare he tear her away from the one thing she loved most? Why not just be left alone to die with loved ones?

… Dare she spit on Duncan's grave? Well… she would spit on his grave, had she known where his body lay. Perhaps he was turned into darkspawn feces. That would be an acceptable thought.

Yes, she would admit it. She hated Duncan… She hated the whole Grey Warden ordeal, and if anything, she would have rather died than submit. Isn't that with Dalish of today stood for? Stand for the old ways and never submit to the shemlen again?

She would rather have died a Dalish than a Grey Warden… The only reason why the two Grey Warden's were still alive was because Morrigan insisted on it. Not because it would spare their lives, but because it was Morrigan, and Morrigan's talents were needed… but that wasn't the only reason.

Morrigan was a great friend, terrifying as it may be to admit. It made Alistair mad how close the two were, but his opinions didn't matter since obviously he let everyone walk all over him, but that's beside the point. Morrigan represented The Wilds, so if Elle could become friendly with her, certainly she would be able to survive within the wicked forest.

And Elle's assumptions were correct.

She was found to be greatly intriguing by those who saw her, may it have been from a distance or not. She was an elf, first and foremost, and this is why so many were careful of her. Not because she might be dangerous, but because they could sense what she was…

Elle met a Chasind within Lothering once, and surprisingly he pointed at her, screaming about the darkness within her. He was not so far from the truth, not at all. No doubt the people who lived within the Wilds felt this, and kept their distance, thankfully. She did not know how long this would be her safe guard though, but one can never be too sure. Elle knew for a fact something would happen. It didn't come to her as a surprise, of course.

The sky occupied thick dark clouds and it was hard to tell solid ground apart from pond scum that floated over swamp waters. The grass was tall and in some portions of the land the trees were few in numbers, crooked and twisted with grey bark.

It's hard to believe, with this kind of landscape, the Chasind were now peaceful. Information gathered from various codex pages didn't explain anything else useful or logical.

… Just how exactly can one make a house on stilts?

Nevertheless, after falling waist deep into another deep unsuspecting swamp hole, she came to rest by a what seemed to be the remains of an old building made of some kind of stone. Only a tall wall remained, providing shade, even though the sun failed to part from the black clouds that hung above her head.

There was something funny about that last sentence, there…

She leaned her back against it after settling herself down with the desire to at least dry off a little before traveling onward to an unknown destination. Interesting how the last time she was here, she slaughtered the Witch of the Wilds… The Chasid seem to treat the legend of Flemeth like a holy God… but it's doubtful that they even know or understand her in the slightest.

She turned her head to the side, a hand caressing her forearm as her gaze shifted down… and settled on a wild flower.

More thoughts flooded her mind; Grey Warden recruits, Ostagar, the Tower of Ishal… Her faithful dog. The red center of the flower made these things come to mind. Nothing was spared. The red was much like the taint that crawled beneath the land, just like the darkspawn nested under ground. She thought this way because she couldn't help but believe that before darkspawn tread on the land, this flower was as white in the center.

Now look at it… It was no longer pure and innocent. All it ever was good for was curing war hounds of the darkspawn's taint.

A long silence was finally broken, and she opened her mouth for the first time since she's left Denerim. "What is to become of me?" She murmured before squeezing the stem of the flower before plucking it. She brought it to her nose—and her nose wrinkled. It was disgusting… It held an awful stench, and she would be damned if she tried eating it to cure the taint that lingered inside of her.

Her hands took the head of the flower and ripped it from its stem with a great scowl.

There was no cure for the taint… Only death.

An ache throbbed within her chest now, and she tossed the remains of the flower to the side before bringing her face to a palm. Was it pain she was feeling? Yes… Yes, that is the pain. At times she hardly notices it. Living this way for so long with nothing to numb it, one eventually gets used to it.

_Dannen le_

_A ú-erin le regi_

_Rang ail le iestannen_

It had been many days since the grand celebration. Though, it wasn't much of a celebration. It consisted of silent stares and pursed lips. The crowd was not at all pleased that their heroine didn't show. Alistair wasn't sure if he should tell them that she ran off, or lie and say that she didn't want to come out.

… Alistair seemed completely distraught, though his betrothed was unwavering to the Warden's disappearance. It was still unsure whether or not there should be a private hunt sent out to find her, or not.

Anora certainly didn't seem to remember the elf fondly. She didn't look at anyone fondly, not even Alistair. Though, she would quietly, secretly admit that Alistair was not as… bad as her first husband, but only in some fields. The couple argued often, almost about everything. Mostly, they argued about what to do with Elle.

She seems to have… affected the morale of Denerim, but Anora doesn't see it as a major issue. Although, there has been some tension built between the Dalish that come to Denerim for negotiations, and the citizens of Denerim.

Though it was all over with, things felt as if they were left undone, unfinished. Nothing felt accomplished after the Blight ended. No one left the "celebration" with a smile, that's for sure. Sten had his sword and left without uttering a word. Leliana has returned to church—Denerim's church, praying for Elle's safety. Ogrhen has been drinking quietly. **Quietly** is the disturbing part, only lashing out at strangers at various times of the day. Wynne has been working as a member of the court, and Shale… Shale has been acting rather passive, occasionally keeping an eye on Dog. Who knows why.

… Oh yes, the Antivan.

Zevran had been occupying himself with a few odd jobs. Knocking off qunari mercenaries, supervising and even escorting valuable targets from point A to point B. It occupied him when there was no work to be done within Denerim's Palace. Usually Alistair would wake up in the night, sometimes Zevran would chat with Alistair at the local pub, but usually Alistair would sit within the studies all night.

… _The studies, of all places._

He wouldn't read any pages, rather he stared into the fireplace in his bulky chair, doing nothing but sigh every so often. Now and again he'd glance to Duncan's shield and he'd begin gritting his teeth—not in angry, though. Sometimes nights, Alistair wasn't in the room alone…

Alistair's shadow had been cast at the wall. This was his tenth night of moping. He sunk in his chair and held the mug of ale within his hand, but since the pouring of the ale, he hasn't put his lips to the rim, not once.

He didn't make a sound, he didn't move. He was distracted by the cackling of the fire, it's bright light burning into his retinas as he maintained a stoic expression. He didn't wear his armor, he didn't enjoy wearing the royal garb either… So he was content with wearing his brown robe, with nothing but underwear underneath.

It was something he wore often when brooding.

The sound of an eerie squeak caused him to turn his head and look to the door, his brows rising suddenly—with hope, anxious hope. It wasn't who he had hoped it to be, however.

"It's late in the night, my friendly Gray Warden." In walked the elf that was taking temporary refuge within the King's humble palace. Zevran kept his sinuous expression, ignoring the obvious vacancy within Alistair's tired eyes.

"There is much to be done tomorrow, surly. It's best to slip into your bed, yes?"

Alistair remained quiet, eventually moving his gaze back to the fire. The light danced on their faces, changing just as Zevran's switched expressions from… sporty to that of a discouraged mood. He kept quiet as he watched King Alistair suck in a great deal of air before sighing once again.

"I don't think this is the best way to… spend your time. Alone, in such a depre—"

"I miss her." He finally said, making Zevran stop instantly to listen. Elle was very serious about the party. She didn't exactly baby Alistair, but she always tried to cheer him up, for the sake of his sanity and his kindness. She always tried to be supportive, and right now Alistair needed support.

"I miss her more than… More than I miss… anything." He took in a deep breath and sighed, his chest shaking as he did so. Zevran looked to the fire, turning a blind eye to Alistair for a moment, if only to save himself for the moment from looking miserable himself.

"I don't think you're the only one." Zevran muttered before looking over to a separate chair that was set by the door, and he pulled it up, squatting down with the chair backwards. Zevran plastered a smile to his face and tried to seem lively. "I'm sure, whatever reason she has for leaving, she misses everyone… especially you."

Alistair's brows came to knit slightly, looking to Zevran, who was such a great actor…

"I don't think that's so." He murmured, looking back to the flame. He shook his head before looking down at the floor. "She stared at you more often than anyone else, I should know…"

Zevran looked towards the fireplace, pretending he didn't hear such things.

"Come now, my dear king—you can't let yourself mourn forever. Nothing will ever get done." Zevran was trying to think of something to say in the long silence. Staring at the sulking king, the elf found himself wanting to sulk as well… No, he couldn't, he just couldn't let himself do that.

Then Alistair's stare shifted to Zevran, and the gaze turned into something stern, something… furious. The king shifts, appearing restless. Frustrated, even. Angry, red paints his face as he looks to the elf accusingly so.

"Zev, you of all people…" He paused in the middle of it all and put his hand to his face, smearing his face with his damp palm. Zevran was… blissfully confused.

"What's that?" He enquired in a light tone.

"You of all people should know. You—you haven't taken responsibility for anything and here I am—here I am just… smiling pretty for the crowd! Wearing the crown and what not because I let myself be persuaded by… an elf."

Zevran narrowed his eyes, not in any dislike of some kind but—just in inquisitively.

"I'm not quite sure that I fo—"

"I'm the one in the position of power now—I don't like it—but I'm not going to listen to any sneaky elves. I… I…" Alistair got up and walked around, pacing. Zevran had… no idea what the king was going on about, only that Alistair wasn't going to listen to whatever the assassin had to say.

"You should be thankful. You should be the one who can't sleep at night. Without her, you'd be dead. Without Elle, you'd be nothing." Zevran's ears twitched and he got up from his chair suddenly, being casual. Thinking he could be guile and just disappear like it was nothing—

"You were nothing, but she still gave you mercy." The assassin didn't want to hear these things. The door squeaked as he pulled it open and took a step into the hallway.

"Stay right where you are."

Zevran, for a reason he had not known, stopped…

Alistair, at the beginning, didn't act so demanding. He'd changed dramatically since the first time the assassin encountered him. No one was the same—no one could've been the same way they were before the Blight happened.

Zevran realized this, and he knew why.

"I want you to find her." He said suddenly. "I want you to go, I want you to get her and bring her back."

"She doesn't want to come back. If she wants to come back, she'll—"

"Take responsibility—you're the one who made her leave."

"I did nothing of the sort." Zevran scoffed, turning and glaring at the other man. Hellfire in those strong and bold hues. Alistair's glare was… overpowering, however.

"You had a hand in it—you didn't give her a reason to stay."

Zevran found himself… livid. He was irked with the way he was called out in a heated dispute, and with a king of all damn things. He forgot he was talking to _King_ Alistair.

"It's an order, you have to go. She'd listen to you."

"And what if she doesn't listen to me, oh great king." Zevran spat acid, despite the fact he was speaking to royalty. Pah—royalty means little from where he came from. Why should he even bother?

"If she doesn't, tell her it's her duty—The king's orders. She has to… I'll give you anything you need, just do it."

_Lû ail le tegin na hen_

_Gwannach o innen ului_

_Ú lû erui, ului_

Life within this forsaken land wasn't as bad as some made it out to be. Truthfully, it was nothing she had not seen before. The only difficulty she faced was hunting. She was Dalish, so it came to her naturally, but with the way her surroundings were… Everything was foreign. She was equipped with bow and arrow at the moment, but she kept her dagger close, for when you're in these woods, anything could come to life and strike out at you. Although she learned several helpful things, not just from the Dalish but also from a friend who was born and raised in The Wilds.

Thank goodness for being on Morrigan's good side, or else Elle wouldn't know what to expect.

Her petite feet carried her through the forest. She kept close to tree's with darkened bark, for she knew any tree that was anything near white, it was most likely to be an enchanted creature of the forest, though one might not be certain if it's just enchanted, or if it's cursed. They could be the same thing, but Elle was never very informed about such things. So far, she learned that if anything within her sights moved… it was best you kill it before it kills you.

The deeper she went, the thicker the air became. A light fog had draped over this part of the forest and seeped through the trees. Her eyes came to narrow, as if she could penetrate her vision through the opaque air and see what lies beyond, but this was not so.

She stopped in her tracks at the glimpse of a dark gray figure weaving in and out of sight. Elle took held her bow tightly as her free hand reached back to take an arrow. She brought the two items into proper placement, bringing her index finger to line with her eyesight. She watched as the blur darted from tree to tree.

It became apparent that there was more than one figure beyond the trees. She heard a snap of the twig behind her, and she turned to see several odd-looking figures staring at her, leaning over to look from the side of the trees.

She was distracted by a shriek—and before she realized where she was standing, a net came falling down on her, huge in radius. She ran, but she wasn't faster than the law of gravity… and she was caught.

.:Conclude:.

Once again, any wrongs, let me know. It's been a while for all of my stories, but I don't think I can force myself into finishing things. It's not as fun when it's forced.

Lyrics above are from, "Not Once, Not Ever", featured in _The End of All Things_.


	3. Pursuit

Doves And Crows

.:Chapter Two:.

She missed Tamlen.

Elle missed him terribly so. His life ended so suddenly, and it was all because of the curiosity. There were so many things she wanted to do, want to say, to him.

His skin was warm… his hair was soft and it was bright, dusty blonde and his skin was… It was tan, and she thought it would be soft and firm. She never touched his skin. Nothing else apart from his hands, and his fingers and palm were calloused over…

She wanted him more than anything else. She's been feeling this way since she left Denerim. Now and again, though… it wasn't always Tamlen who was on her mind.

She just had no idea why… Zevran came to mind so often.

Zevran… Tamlen… They were nothing alike. She didn't know what to think of the conflict. She just didn't want Zevran in her mind anymore.

She groaned quietly, twisting. What became of that assassin, she wondered… Her back arched slowly—and suddenly she jerked awake. Her eyelashes fluttered for a moment before she looked around, hearing a faint rustling.

Her eyes focused on a wild looking child, one who was… searching through her bag.

"Hey. Quit that." Elle said, glaring as the child seemed to continue a thorough search. She tried standing up before realizing shortly there after that she was tied to a… wooden pole of some kind. Now she frowned and watched the boy scramble her things.

"HEY!" She stomped her foot, and the redheaded boy looked up to the elf and jumped back.

"I said stop that." She said, frowning. The boy continued to stare for a while longer before standing up and suddenly darting off towards a hut. Further examination told her that she was not only tied to a pole, but the pole was located within the center of what looked to be a poor settlement. She looked to her bag, seeing that she couldn't really… reach… no matter how much she stretched for it.

She finally gave up after a moment of straining herself, and tucked her feet beneath her. Elle had no idea what was going on, and what was going to happen. She was in the center of a settlement, she knew that well enough. All the people were… absent, however. Huts were scattered around her, and somewhere beyond the several surrounding huts, there was a house… on stilts.

This was an unpleasant surprise. There was no doubt that this was a village for the chasind. Feral and crazy barbarians and the likes, she imagined. They had taken all her blades from her, even the ones well hidden… She couldn't help but wonder what their intentions were.

This would be her first encounter with the people of the wilds.

There was nothing she could do to slip out of her bonds, so she could only wait. She didn't wait long, though. Her legs were beginning to fall asleep at this point, and she felt a burning sensation rubbing at her wrists. She heard the sound of drums not too far from where she was, and she heard men shouting and cheering, almost. The back of her neck felt hot… Why was that?

Men started filing out between huts, most accompanied by torches and the likes. Elle remained unmoving, watching as they all surrounded her, muttering nasty words. Shouting them, even. The young boy she saw earlier was holding a torch, and he dared to step closer than the others would, pushing the fire into her face with the intention of scaring the elf.

She didn't shy away from the flames, rather she wrinkled her nose from the heat. These people had all any faces and spoke incoherently. They were all upset, but she didn't see why they should be. When the boy had stepped back into his place, everyone went quiet… What looked to be a shaman part from the sea of people.

He wore real clothes, not rags like the others. His were all patched together and of all sorts of dark faded colors. He was very old, with a long and coarse beard. He was thin, and skin sagged some, his eyelashes were fanned out over his cheeks. He didn't walk with his eyes open, which was odd. She didn't question it, though. His sleeves dragged on the ground as he walked, a wooden staff used to help him walk to her.

Elle looked up at the man who towered over her, and she kept quiet as he seemed to freeze completely in motion. One eyelid lifted and looked down at her, before it closed and he turned to the savages with a composed prowess. He put his hands to the sky.

"This unseemly elf carries the blackness within her body. Inside is the black mark!" He began making wild gestures, painting a picture for those listening. Elle couldn't help but roll her eyes. Oh, she's gotten this before. "The foul beast that crawl beneath our feet, and this elf of nature, share the evil. They are one and the same!" Then the old man brought his staff to nudge beneath her chin, forcing Elle to lift her head and exposed the blood-writings on her face.

"The vile sin has _infected_ even the one who are most loyal to these lands." The cane was moved away, and he paced around her. "This creature has done no harm to us… As we speak, she dies—rots on the inside. There is no other end to the road she walks."

"But she is weak." A man stood apart from the crowd, stepping forward and taking a defiant stance.

"I was there—she couldn't escape even the most simplest of traps." Another man joined the first to put in his say, and the elder nodded quietly, stroking his long beard in thought as he seemed to maul over some kind of conflict.

"You and the hunters… come forth." He beckoned them with an index finger, nudging the bag of equipment closer to the elf. Elle looked quizzical as she slipped a leg out and scooted the bag behind her. "If the pariah can stand her own against the hunters… She will have proved she has her right to live."

Five men had stepped apart from the crowd. They had clubs and maces in their hands. Her hands fumbled back for her back, reaching in and fumbling for whatever sharp point objects were inside. She felt cold glass vials between her fingers and continued to search, eventually finding what felt like a blade. She had accidentally split her finger open when she went looking for a handle, but she soon began using it to cut at the ropes that bound her wrists. The elder cleared his throat and glanced back to the men as he walked to the side.

"Well… You don't need permission." He blandly stated, and the men nodded to themselves.

For a moment, Elle was getting in the fighting spirit when she felt something as heavy as an anchor drape over her, and after removing the ropes that bound her hands she thought her choice of action to be a waste of time. The men had enclosed on her and waited for her to get to her feet… She found that civilized. Usually bandits would just kill you right away, instead wait for you to get up from the ground… No, Elle didn't want to get up. She didn't want to fight.

"What makes you think I value the life I lead?" She muttered to the ringleader, sighing and sticking the knife into the ground. They all hesitated in the holding of their weapons, suddenly confused. They all stared at her as if she were the crazy one before looking to the shaman for answers. He stared at her, long and hard…

"… I would appreciate it if you let me keep my jewelry when you bury me, or whatever it is you do to strangers right after you kill them. Some of them hold sentimental value."

After some silence, nothing had happened. Elle remained docile, staring at the ground as she held her necklace tightly, ignoring the eyes upon her as she closed hers, hoping that someone would just… put her out of her misery. It's obvious that she was nothing but an empty shell at this point.

Her ear twitched at the sound of footsteps as a human hunter made his way to her, before kicking her shoulder. She was forced to the ground by a boot, and she remained there, holding to her necklace. He seemed to pace back and forth, looking almost angry. He had a club of stone in his hand, gripping it so tight, one could hear his hand tighten on the leather around the handle. He kicked dirt at her, but she only flinched in response.

"… Fight back." The man spoke to her, nearly seething. She didn't. Instead she waited for a strong blow, one that would kill her. The tensions between the two rose as people watched in silence… until finally the shaman came forth once again.

"I think it best if the two of us were… left alone." The men and women all around looked to the elder as though he were insane… Then again, wasn't _everyone_ in these parts nutty? He leaned down to the elf and helped her up whilst the barbaric men put their weapons away. A lot of noise was made and Elle was allowed to gather her things—not allowed, more so coaxed to bring them with her.

Without any quarrel, she went with the old man, following him into his… house… on stilts… Which was difficult to describe with just words. She had climbed it successfully—the old man was quite healthy and limber for… an old man. She did not know what to make of all this… Captured by chasind several days after of drifting. She didn't understand why they didn't just kill her right away after crossing whatever boundaries she stepped across. Those of the Dales' are much the same… It was often humans that wondered too close to the camp. They had to be killed.

… but Elle hadn't killed them, those unarmed humans the day they stumbled into the cave. Why was that? She doesn't remember what she was thinking…

She was pulled inside by his hand, grasping her wrist tightly as he walked about with his wooden cane and slightly hunched-back. He pulled her along the dark room until finally he let her be by a small table of sorts. He seemed to hurry about… but Elle was in no hurry to do anything. Rather she was still suffering from a strange ennui that had overcome her slowly now.

"What do you want from me, old man…?" She muttered as she glanced out the door, feeling nearly sick as a bitter and earthy breeze came by, wrinkling her nose.

_Ú i vethed nâ i onnad_

It was quiet.

A silent spell was casted over Denerim. People within the walls were busy carrying on with their lives, some almost restless with the silence and absense of their hero, Fereldan's hero. Before the threat of the Archdemon was lifted, her name was unspoken amongst many. All was known about her was that she was of the Dalish, and that she was a Gray Warden, and that she vanished without a trace.

Or at least, so everyone thought.

_His stared at her from the comfort of her lap. Elle had her eyes staring directly back at his, however it was obvious that she wasn't looking at him. No, she was looking beyond Zevran's honey-coated eyes. She didn't see him, she saw __**through**__ him. He felt a great throb within his chest—he ached at the sound of silence. She wasn't happy… Zevran always made beautiful women happy, even before carrying out the assassination. He couldn't help but wonder what she was so distraught over, what words would be said if he managed to get her to speak—but no. Not a word was said… Never spoken, but always thought of, mauled over and over again. Somethings were left unsaid._

_His hand that caressed hers was lifted, and came down to push a curtain of ebony black hair away from her face, tucking it behind a fine pointed ear. He didn't know what made her appear so ill. He didn't know her like he secretly wished to. Though she offered a place for him to rest his head, he felt as though he were... making her some sort of prisoner._

_Surely a suffering soul would much rather mourn alone, instead of in the company of their lover._

They were lovers, weren't they?

That is the question he found himself asking every day in her absence.

Zevran had spent much time alone to himself to contemplate what was nessisary, and what was unessissary. She was difficult to read, and it was just as difficult trying to make her react with emotion... Did the girl want to abandon her responsibility? Or was there another reason? Or what if it was something else entirely?

Questions plauged many minds the day she left. No goodbye, no warning, not even a note left in her wake. Zevran would've confronted Morrigan, had she not disappeared after the slaying of the Archdemon. The two were close, the witch and the elf. However, Zevran had a feeling that even though they were somewhat friends, Morrigan and Elle were just like isolated islands. Whatever the dark woman had in mind had nothing to do with Zevran, and he had no qualm with her. He had—did he really?—have a qualm with Elle?

… Why would it bother him whether or not she was gone?

_Because you fought by her side every step of the way._ _Without her, you'd still be in your cage..._

This was very true. He would still be bounded by the legion of assassins. Without her, Zevran would have no mercy from others. She gave him more than mercy. She gave everything there was to offer and more. All he had given her was a piece of jewelry that had sentimental value once before, though he denied having such a thing for an object. He wasn't sure what it meant to her… He wasn't sure if she had the earring even now, but—wait, why is he even thinking these things?

She didn't even take the earring…

"Take it in whatever form you wish, do whatever you wish with it." He opened his hand and offered the small golden loop to her, and for a moment she… came back to life, is eemed. It was very strange… but he aimed to make her brighten up more. Always with the long faces in Fereldan, and when he saw her eyes light up, he felt a warm victory burn within his chest.

_He held his breath as she looked at him with a smile, a smile she tried to hold back._

"… _I'll take it as a token of affection?"_

"_Oh—I… I…" He deadpanned. For the first time, in a while at least, it seemed as though a cat had caught his tongue. He remained serious, for he didn't want to go about this lightly… The shift in his expressions revealed to her that she made a poor choice in words. Zevran wasn't sure what to say, not at the particular moment. She had a way with surprising him, that's for certain._

"_I… Just—please, just take it." He looked very troubled, straining to find words, but they all jumbled together and he— "It's meant… a great deal to me, but so has what… Just take it." Really…? Tongue becoming tied, Zevran? What happened to being the one with all the swagger, eh?_

_She looked as though she might take it, but then she looked up to him, realizing how he seemed to be reacting—was it so hard to just say, 'Yes, it's my way of showing affection to you'. It would've been a great way to make up for the hell he put her through during __**that night**__. That particular night, the very night that she avoids talking about. Really, looking back… he actually felt embarrassed with the way he handled that situation._

_But—ah! This was just a distracting thought, nothing more._

"_No." She shook her head, averting her eyes to avoid looking into his pretty honey hues. "That's quite all right. You don't have to." Her fingers wrapped around the strange necklace she held so dear as she walked to her tent, heading in for the night. "Keep it."_

… He shouldn't be attached. Zevran was the son of a whore—in some cases, being a whoreson was lower than being pondscum—on top of that he was an assassin. Assassins have no hearts, they are weapons, instuments of destruction. They just kill things— Then that was the thought that made him severely ill…

Did he _kill_ her?

It was another thought that kept him awake some nights. He'd never admit that he looked back and imagined what he could've done different with her, however he still felt it… He felt guilt, and there were others he once thought as comrades who would look upon the Antivan elf with _that_ look. The one where the eyes would narrow some, and their mouths would purse ever so slightly as they cut him down with their thoughts. It was absolutely maddening…

He did nothing wrong, in his own eyes. They had a mutual and civil agreement. They were both easy lovers. Where could she have gone? What was she doing now? Then a thought crossed his mind, making Zevran void of any facial expression.

… What if she's dead?

Color faded from him and his eyes stared to the beyond—beyond, of to the south where the sky met the land as he tried to think of how and why. If she truly died, and she was gone forever… No, she had the choice to die previously, to sacrifice herself. He took in a breath suddenly, unaware that he had stopped breathing for the longest time, and began to think of what he was doing before these silly… things interrupted his train of thought. What was he doing before?

"Zev!"

He turned his head to look at a redheaded woman, hussling over with bows and arrows on her back. She beamed at him, eager to speak with the elf. He didn't seem to… hold the same eagerness she had, but he nodded to her.

"So you're coming along? Good, the more help the better. I imagine it will be like finding—how was it say? Finding a needle in a mound of hay?" Zevran forced a smile, his choice of words rousing a giggle out of the other rogue.

"That is close enough… I've got everything I need with me, so I'm ready to go if you are." He nodded once again. He had been ready, he just thought he'd wait out side of Denerim, just in case anyone would like to join his quest. He couldn't really express his gratitude at the moment, but he thought, within time, he'd lighten up.

"I wasn't sure if anyone would show. It's rather late, and—"

"Shale wanted to come, you know."

"Ah, yes, but she would only slow us down…" He looked back, halfway to the windmill that was just outside the city. "Not to mention she isn't really nimble and dexterous."

"Of course. This quest would require some… socializing and a bit of finesse, yes?" Certainly something Shale was not cut-out for. As Leliana finally reached Zevran's side, she sighed… and her smile drooped for a moment. There was a void between the two… There was a void in everyone, it seemed. Leliana's frown dragged Zevran's forced smile down as well, and before they knew it, they were both a sad-looking duo, and he couldn't help but feel that he was partly the one to blame. He didn't want to take full responsibility, though. No no, not all of this is his fault, he was sure.

He prayed that it wasn't entirely his fault.

"Zevran." Leliana looked over to the elf, suddenly looking very miffed. Without really acknowledgment, he hummed his response, and suddenly the bard stopped in her steps. He turned to look at her, tilting his head. Then she said something that made him realize just how much he was slipping.

"… Where are we going?"

"Going…" He paused, stalled suddenly as he tried to think of—where _was_ he going? Suddenly, he cleared his throat. "We're going… to where the Dalish roam, my dear friend. I can't imagine where any other Dalish might be, but with clan." Leliana seemed to be momentarily dumb-struck, as if he had said something outrageous, like blasphemy.

"Where else would she go…?" He asked, before earning a nod from the girl, and they shifted directions. They'd go through the Brecilian's first, and then maybe work their way to Ostagar, the lands that were given openly to those of the Dales.

.:Conclude:.

Lyric above is from Evening Star (part of the chorus). Any mistakes, message me. Otherwise, R&R would be greatly appreciated.


	4. Regret

Doves And Crows

.:Chapter Three:.

Quietly as autumn comes, the days are getting shorter one by one…

There had been many things discussed within the past days. On Elle's end, those days remained uncounted. She mumbled stories in her sleep, or at least the shaman said so. He had a name, an odd name. Crewe is what they called him and what he went by, and it was just as odd as all the other people cluttered around the shaman's home.

She didn't't believe everything he told her—and he told her several things. It felt like he was teasing her, mocking her—the way he told her of potions and elixirs that have been made in order to help numb one on the inside, or rituals that were played out in order to help one forget… That one intrigued her the most. These barbarian's had rituals that could make one be in a state of total and complete… serenity. This, she had to see done before she allowed it to happen to her.

… Of course, she's help set up a ritual before, so she had little doubt of the ability of these Kocari folk.

She had her own special hut for herself. It was odd, yes. Everything was strange, but she found it a comfortable checkpoint when taking a break from her brooding. It wasn't't as though she could walk outside whenever she wished, though. The hut involved most of her stay, and though the sweet smells that wafted in through the window calmed her, she still didn't't completely understand the looks she was given by passing chasind. They all look dumb-struck, as if they never saw an elf before… but that was fine. She wasn't't being forced into slavery.

That was one thing she could appreciate. The chasind never forced anyone into slavery, or at least history has never mentioned as such. That would've been something Elle would've liked to ask Morrigan… Ohhh, how she missed that woman's company. She wasn't't the best, but she would at least say something that would help with this heart ache. Probably something along the lines of, "Love is for the weak and this weakness you'll just have to overcome just like any other."

Though you have to own a pretty grim outlook on life if you're supposed to take "advice" from Morrigan.

Maybe Wynne would've been a better shoulder to lean on—cry on? Elle wasn't't really familiar with the expressions. Maybe if she was a bit more well-rounded in all the fields or something… but no. Too late now.

It was too late. She was already days away from where she was last, years away mentally. Elle would spend as many days as she could lying within a bed, crying her heart out, if it only meant that she'd be able to convince herself that there was no other way, and no going back. Besides… even if she did—or even if she could, what would she say to those who would ask?

And so she remained in the hut, alone for the most part—with the idea that she'd be fine. Everything would be fine and there was nothing more that needed to be done now… All that needed to be done now was to try and fall through with a ritual, a chasind ritual.

Every morning, Crewe appeared at the door, knocking quietly. He came in with incense to burn, to keep the evil spirits away… or so he says. Elle didn't't mind. Then he'd sit at her bedside for an hour, watching her and listening to what she had to say as she consumed whatever food he gave. She thought at first it would be poison, so she ate eagerly, but after what felt like a week, it was soon discovered that there were no such things in her strange meals. She would've been dead long ago.

It was a little disappointing, but she wouldn't't voice her disappointments to the one man who was being so kind to her. Though it didn't't change the fact that he was very strange and nutty. She had a strong feeling however, that he knew much more than she did, to an extent. It was very difficult to put in words, really.

It was another day, and today she felt a little more laxed with every intake of the incense. Crewe had let himself in the hut once again… He was at his usual seat, and he was acting quite inquisitive despite everything. Everything including the rude quips from the elf herself and cold morning sleet that blanketed the outside.

"It's been a while since we've talked about the past." He would say… the most absurd things… but he was very charismatic for a chasind, in his own way. Most chasind reminded her of cavemen.

"What is it now? If you want something answered, you'll need to speak plainly." She chewed on a boiled root of some kind, something that tasted familiar. There were days when they served roots at the camp, but not too often. Crewe grinned and leaned against his walking stick, ignoring the attitude she gave.

"You've plenty to hide, but for few reasons." The elf shifted in her bed, which she had grown to dislike a little more each day. Much like how she hated his visits. She slouched and fanned the air some, finding herself lightheaded with all the sickening incense lit up for the day.

"What are you trying to say, ham? Do you think I put my nose into places it didn't't belong?" Crewe squinted his eyes for a moment and then smiled. She frowned at the nods he made in response to her question, and she sighed finally.

"… Well, where do you want me to start? Hm? You're not really asking any specific questions—"

"The beginning sounds like a promising start." He muttered, and her lips twitched to a frown as she narrowed her eyes, shoulders dropping at the way he seemed to say such a thing as if it were obvious. He really did have a way with words.

"Alright. I'm of the Dales. The reason I'm here before you today? Many things factor into it… but I supposed you… could say I… involved myself in… a… exploration gone wrong. Because of my poor choice of words and decisions, I ended up ruining my friends life—and almost my own." That was as vague as she could put it. She didn't't want to say more than that, seeing as how obviously he was trying to find out something in particular.

"This is trouble you stumbled upon, how long ago was it?" Elle scoffed at the question, finding it hardly worthy of any questions.

"I don't remember. A very long time ago."

"Years, would you say?" And then she paused, rubbing her eyelids as she thought it over… Then she finally answered with the shake of the head, and he nodded, stroking his beard. Elle gave him a long sigh and looked to him with an exhausted look in her eyes. It's strange how, even after all the hours of sleeping and doing nothing, she's still this tired.

"No, it hasn't't even been a year yet." None of the answers she gave him, actually satisfied him, not really. She could tell, somehow.

He stood abruptly and went to the door, giving an abrupt end to the conversation. Odd, because he'd only been here for less than ten minutes. She shifted and placed her feet on the floor, only to see him spin around and raise his hand.

"Please, don't get up." This caused her to look to the old man with a confused expression. Before she could ask, she was silenced again. "What we have going on outside isn't ready for your introduction yet." The elf drew in another tired sigh and tucked her feet back up on the bed.

"That doesn't really make an—"

"You'll be taking part in the ritual, won't you?" And then Elle drew a blank. She wasn't't sure if she wanted to go through with such a thing—for a number of reasons. Would she really want to forget… everything? If she did, then there's always the possibility of leaving the Kocari Wilds and slipping back into Fereldan, where there was a nation of people who knew her face, her name and her story. Would she honestly want to make that mistake? She wasn't't sure if she wanted to come across the chance.

If only Tamlen was still…

"There has already been a discussion with the people. You'll be accepted as our own and will be allowed the… special… benefits that the other's have." She curled up, tucking her knees beneath her chin. Her eyes looked away from him, averting the gaze elsewhere.

She was torn… She didn't't really want to endure anymore disappointments, and if she didn't't remember any of the ones she had now—well, great. Perhaps she'll be as senseless as the common chasind. That could be a good thing, in the end.

"I'll go along with it…"

And without have another word said, he was gone, the door closed behind him. She fell backwards onto the bed and sighed… still conflicted… She didn't't know if she should wait… or forget. This conflict, she couldn't't decide on. Really, she couldn't't. Not being able to decide is the worst kind of conflict one could have, it seems…

Now, all that talk of survival Morrigan preached, the idea that love is nothing but a weakness, it all seemed to make sense. It made sense in the beginning, a little bit of sense—hell, it was reasonable thinking. It was logical. No doubt that she finally learned her lesson, but after all this, she just wanted to go back. The heart was her weakness… Without it, she would probably be better off.

Lay down

Your sweet and weary head

Night is falling

You have come to journey's end

"I think we shouldn't't stay long after morning comes. I feel as though our welcome won't last for very long…" That's what she said before she had left him to surround herself with curious and nervous elves.

Leliana was always the cautious one. She was always careful, and observant. Smart as well, Zevran could say. Often he asked her to share this 'vision' of hers with him, and every time she's refused. He knows her almost too well, but she doesn't know everything. Often he avoided talk of important things. He hasn't't talked much about his past life, with the exception of Elle of course. That was… best described as a one-time sort of deal.

It was sort of on a need to know sort of thing, sometimes. Like when the dalish folk tried to pry into business that was not their own. Zevran imagined that it would've happened sooner or later, but they didn't't need to know that he was from Antiva. They didn't't need to know if he grew in the city, or in the wilds. It was of no importance to them, really.

Leliana was, of course, so very willing to share information with the elves. Many things, really. She told them many things, some personal, some stories—they loved to hear her stories, though. It can be said that they were at least charmed with her tales and songs.

So, they were given… one tent to share. Zevran didn't't honestly have a problem with it. No, not at all… In fact, he said nothing of the matter, despite the looks Leliana shot him. The ones that would normally make Zevran smirk and laugh at his own mischievous nature. Those looks. The kind that say to him, "I know that you're thinking of something naughty, because what sexual deviant wouldn't't when given such a golden opportunity?" Or something along those lines.

The bard was still settled around the fire, however. Still very content with lying on his back, as it were… which was funny, because he usually enjoyed—oh, hell. That's obvious, in such a case. The elf sighed and waited for Leliana's return, and she was certainly taking her time.

Not that he could complain… He rather enjoyed being alone. Though he could hear the distant sound of voices outside of the tent, he was content. Or at least thought he was.

He wasn't't sure what time it was when he soon returned. He wasn't't truly paying attention, and he even began to nod off to a pleasant nap, actually. Maybe not pleasant… No, it wasn't't really pleasant. He had just slipped into a comfortable state of… nothingness. Numb, even. Only one problem was keeping him from having sleep; his stomach was upset, it seemed.

He didn't't feel nauseous, or sick. He wasn't't sure what he felt, but he suspected his stomach wouldn't't be letting him sleep. It was almost unfair, but he didn't't try to think about it too much…

… because when he actually did think about something, he thought of her and felt restless.

Now he groans. Damn, he thought of her again. Sometimes he has to remind himself to forget about her. It was annoying, the way her pretty pale hues were shaped—the shade of blue very maddening. There was a time when there was a spark in her eyes. Like the first girl he fell for—but instead blazing fire, hers were more intense, focused, as though she willed the fire in her blue hues. Fire that she kept tamed—tamed, these thoughts made him shudder.

However, the last few days he saw her, those pretty pale hues did not show any controlled fire, no spark that ignited a flame.

He wanted to die for it. Nothing ever turned out right, and it just wasn't't fair… because he knew it was his fault. He had ruined her love for him—love was probably stretching it. There was no one who imagined like her… Her words, the way they were put in order and just the sound of her voice, every small detail lured him in. She brings out the best and worst of people. Her dalish nature is very deep within her, despite the fractured life. She used to laugh, and she laughed so beautifully.

But he stole her laughter and in its place, silence.

But it wasn't't as if he tried. It takes two—and it's not easy for two, but it's not any easier when everything depends on one. Zevran, despite the frustration and unsettling nothingness, he tried to convince himself he was not in love. Falling in love is the worst thing that could happen to anyone…

… Zevran turned on his side and kept his eyes shut, trying to relax. He had nothing to do but reflect—it was all that was on his mind at the moment. It was the single thing that was troubling him. She was a ghost, and as much as he would like to imagine he was amazing and everything was fine—their history was for sale.

During Zevran's distraught overview of the past, Leliana returned, lifting the tent flap and poking her head in with a smile. His ear twitched and his eyes opened as she crouched slightly, walking in and settling on her bedroll, smiling. Grinning like a fox, as it were. She giggled and brought her bow and arrow down between herself and him, and he of course smiled—though it felt out of place, he did it anyway, and she sat on her knees whilst he propped himself up on his arms.

"So, I think they like us a little more… Or at least me. I warned them about your… ways." Zevran had laughed whole-heartedly, momentarily forgetting about his troubles for the moment and tilting his head… Although, he didn't't really see himself sleeping with someone anytime soon…

Shocking, yes, but after his last roll in the hay, he wasn't't really for the opportunity.

"Leliana, you're bad for business…" He laughed, and she seemed to smile some, as though pleased with herself. But she was aware that it wasn't't really something entirely worth noting.

"You'll be sleeping well tonight, I hope." She removed her armor to reveal the undergarment she worth beneath it and sighed, as if it had been on her mind all day. The bard seemed to sigh, rolling her shoulders before having flop down on the bed roll, rubbing her eyes. Zevran leaned back again and closed her eyes, his hands behind his head.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Oh, my mistake… It's just the night before, you seemed to be having trouble sleeping." Instantly, the idea made Zevran… nervous, almost embarrassed, but he didn't't show that.

"Hah—I'm sure I don't talk in my sleep, do I?" This earned a giggle from the redhead, and he looked to her out of the corner of his eye, trying to mask his concern by maintaining his… facial expression. The girl crossed her legs and also tucked her hands behind her head, a smirk tugging her lips.

"No, you have yet to start talking in your sleep… I wouldn't't be surprise if you started to, of course. You're on step short of doing just that…"

"Then what is it I do in my sleep that makes you think I don't sleep well, ham?"

"You move almost constantly…" She stated before closing her eyes, her smile becoming less and less. Zevran was surprised by this, but eventually just turned his eyes back up, shrugging as if it were nothing. His eyes closed as well as he decided to thing of something else to speak of—and that was easy.

"Did they say anything about her?"

"No, they haven't seen any sign of her, and they don't have any idea where she would've gone…" This was troublesome… It really was. There was no magic that could show him where she was, no one he's talked to seemed to be able to help him with his quest. This was all his fault, he knows it all too well… Zevran allowed himself to look displeased.

"This is the fifth clan we've ran into." His hand reached to his face and ran down, sighing heavily as he tried to think. Where could she have gone? Where does a Gray Warden go to when they want to hide? Where would someone go if they wanted solitude?

"Maybe we should visit a chantry or two."

"She's hardly into the religion, Zevran…"

"Mm… Good point." He rested his hand on his chest and took a deep breath in. "Where else would one go to when running away?" He asked, and she seemed to be deep in thought, trying to come up with something… Some sort of refuge, but there was little refuge so close to the Kocari Wilds.

"If we go any further south, we'll be facing some serious difficulties…"

"True, Leliana… Very true… However, it's a place worth strolling through, yes? How I see it, is if we don't at least check, we might travel all over Fereldan and find nothing until we go to the Wilds. Obvious, if we do all that traveling, no doubt she'd be feral and wild like the other crazies that come from that Maker forsaken land… I have a feeling that if her sanity is lost, it won't be easy bringing her back."

"It's going to be difficult convincing her to come back, what with the way you treated her."

"Please." Zevran scoffed and sat up, looking down at her with his nose raised slight. "I did not tell her to run off. I did no harm, nothing of the sort." He denied it, and she seemed to allow this denial for the time being. Instead of arguing, she cast a glare of sorts and then closed her eyes. She looks terribly nasty and ugly when she scowls like so… She turned her back to him and yawned, tucking her feet in a bit as she rested her head on her bag of clothing, which acted as a nice pillow.

"Goodnight, Zevran." She said, and he rolled his eyes and fell back, lying down again.

"Yes, pleasant dreams…" He said with a low tone. Leliana had blown out their light source and fell silent, and though she might not have instantly fallen asleep—he was certain neither of them would be sleeping for several more hours.

Zevran did not dream… His sleep involved nothing but darkness, and that darkness remained for hours. Though these were hours, it felt as though he never got enough sleep.

He found sleeping more enjoyable when sex came before it. Cuddling, too. Cuddling was always nice… so was pillow talk… Waking up was nice as well when with someone. Though Leliana was always there when he opened his eyes, he knew for a fact that it was just for a while. He didn't't really like her the way he used to anyway… and he didn't't think he'd like waking up with her in his arms, either…

Then he remembered that Elle never really stayed in bed for long with Zevran. She either crept away when he was asleep, or she told him that she wasn't't tired, rejecting the offer of "just-sleeping" all together, no matter what his intentions were. He couldn't't blame her, though… He could've been a bit more gentle with her on that night…

Then it came back, that weird feeling. Something unsettling and… frustrating. It made it impossible to eat sometimes… Sometimes it made him angry, even crazy, but none of this showed on the surface. On the outside, he remained Zevran, the easy lover—oh but he didn't't feel like it anymore.

By the Maker, he'd get himself back into the saddle one of these days…

"Zevran?" Leliana was not asleep yet, it seemed. He sighed, signaling to her that yes, he was awake. She paused… making his thoughts pause as well as he waited… He waited, almost frozen in anticipation.

"Do you miss her?"

"… Mm… Do you miss her?"

"Every day." And with her answer, he refused to answer her question with anything. Mostly because, well… he didn't't know.

.:Conclude:.

I think my spell-check broke… I'm pretty sure it's broken… Yep, I believe that could be the case. I have a very old version of Microsoft word, you see. Please tell me if something is wrong. I hate looking over what I've wrote and finding that I spelled nearly everything wrong.

Lyrics above, "Into the West" by I have no clue who… R&R!

**Edit**, I put my chapter into an online spell checker, but if anyone could help me with my spell check problem on word, I'd appreciate it. Google has failed me, for the first time, in problem solving.


End file.
